


two hearts in one home

by donutcats



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, mentions of fbi stiles, the elusive summer between s2 and s3a
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 12:21:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11851473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donutcats/pseuds/donutcats
Summary: "We're gonna figure this out. Don't worry.""I always worry." Derek says, quietly, his own hand moving to cover Stiles'."Yeah, but that's why you have me."





	two hearts in one home

**Author's Note:**

> I'm getting back into the swing of writing, and who would have guessed it would be teen wolf of all things that had me writing again

If you asked Stiles to start at the beginning, he'd tell you that nothing really has a beginning. There's no _correct_ place to start. He could say the beginning was that night he dragged Scott into the woods, Scott’s last night as a human. But then, you'd wonder, 'what was before then?' You'd think about their childhoods, you'd want to go farther back, to an earlier beginning.  
  
Maybe the beginning was a day or so later, when Derek Hale stalked out of the woods and his eyebrows did an impressive dance. Or, the beginning could be when Derek was bleeding out, dying in a vet clinic, and against his better judgement Stiles helped him.

Perhaps the true start lies in the summer where Stiles had to fend for himself in the world of werewolves without Scott as a buffer.  
  
While Stiles knew that Erica and Boyd hadn't been around for awhile, it was Derek who came to him and asked for a favor. A favor that turned into another favor, which continued to snowball from there until Stiles finally found out the truth; Derek thought they were missing. Like, kidnapped missing. It was a feeling he had in his gut that wouldn't go away and only increased the more he tried to contact them. Which, is how Stiles found himself helping Derek and Isaac, and by extension Peter.  
  
They had a _talk_ about Peter. A talk that mostly involved Stiles gesturing wildly with his hands and listing off the multitude of reasons why this was a terrible idea, and Derek saying the bare minimum but still managing to convince Stiles that Peter was _needed_ . Apparently he was doing better. He was still an asshole but his murderous tendencies had calmed down. Yippee.  
  
In the middle of extra credit summer homework and trying to dig up anything he could on the missing betas, rumors about an alpha pack started to roll in. Stiles’ already late nights became even later, as he left no argument that he was most definitely helping with this.

 

Stiles finds himself spending more and more time at the loft, laptop open on the large wood table. Schoolwork spreading itself across one side while things that Stiles considered possible leads lay on the other side. Whatever he couldn’t find in old books sat in neat tabs at the top of his browser. Lists of abandoned buildings and bus schedules. Wolf dynamics turned into extensive research on whatever he could dredge up from the web on Hunter politics and codes. If it wasn’t a wolf thing, a Boyd and Erica thing, it had to be a hunter thing.

When he wasn’t at school, or spending some time with his dad, Stiles was at the loft. Late nights became all nighters became sprawling out on Derek’s couch, more times than he can count. He started to make himself comfortable in the loft, after weeks of spending all his free time there with his laptop and various theories. He even got used to Peter, lurking around and pretending he wasn't a mass murderer. And maybe he wasn't _too_ bad, when he wasn't being a villain.

Sometimes, when Peter washed the few dishes Derek owns or leaned into Stiles' personal space with a magazine in hand, loudly declaring that Stiles belongs in one of the many spreads of _'worst fashion trends'_ , Stiles can see glimpses of the person Peter could have been. The promise of an uncle unburdened and unburned, with family still breathing and no trace of a bloodlust for revenge settled into his bones.

Isaac is around too, and Stiles suspects he stays on Derek's couch on the nights that Stiles doesn't. Stiles knows that the company he keeps tend to view him as fragile sometimes, as something that needs protecting. But when he looks at Isaac, who wears long sleeved shirts a size too big on days he doesn't pretend to be someone he's not, who still flinches if you move too fast around him. Stiles thinks it's Isaac who needs protection, who needs someone to worry about him and make sure he's eating and sleeping.

Some days they research, some days they go and follow leads, trying to grasp at straws for some semblance of a solid case. Other days, quiet days, they just sort of, hang out. Those days aren't too common, downright nonexistent in the early summer. They're days that Stiles is rewarded with, after spending so much time with them. Where there's a lull, where both Stiles and the wolves hit a wall.

On good days, Stiles can lure them out of the house, sans Peter who will go off and do whatever vaguely nefarious things Peter does. On those days, they'll pile into Derek's camaro, because Derek refuses to stop every 30 minutes because the jeep likes to die from time to time. On days when no one wants to leave the house, Stiles finds movies to watch. Most of the time the movie ends and all that's left are Stiles and Isaac curled up onto the couch. Once in awhile Stiles will find himself leaning close to Derek as the credits roll, the movie managing to keeping Derek’s attention.

Stiles wears Derek’s sweaters, on the nights that turn chilly in the way summer always does. It’s not a conscious decision, not the way Stiles grabs at the nearest sweater as the sun goes down along with the temperature. He doesn’t mention how it smells like Derek, like something dark and woody, or how Derek clearly ignores the way Stiles basically lives out of his dresser as the weeks go by.

It's nice. Stiles is hesitant to admit that, because nothing in Beacon Hills can be nice without there being a price. Ominous rhyming and all.

 

One night, when Stiles can't keep his eyes open any longer, no matter how close he feels to understanding why the fuck these shitty alpha's decided to hit up beacon hills, he feels Derek at his shoulder. He’s making Stiles get up, absently batting the pen out of Stiles’ hand, pushing him towards the large bed Derek has sitting in the corner of the airy loft. Derek doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to, even as Stiles rubs at his eyes and mumbles about the all the things he could be doing if some stupid wolf didn’t force him to bed.

Derek huffs a small laugh, the breath fluttering along Stiles’ arm, and before he knows it his shins are bumping into a mattress. Without thinking much of it, Stiles flops down face first, already in a tshirt that he suspects was once Derek’s and a pair of sweatpants from home that he keeps at the loft, because sometimes jeans just don't jive with the summer.

Isaac says goodnight on his way by, and Stiles waves a hand over his head hoping the gesture is understood. The floorboards shift, and before Derek has a chance to move away, he's grabbing at his shirt. "Just stay."  
  
"Stiles."  
  
"Shut up, and go to sleep. You need it too, grumpy face."  
  
He's expecting a complaint, a snappy response, or just complete absent silence. Instead, he startles as the covers rustle, as Derek lays down, leaving a good foot between their bodies. Derek is breathing slowly, but Stiles doesn't need super special wolf hearing to know Derek's heart is pounding out an orchestra.  
  
Sleep pulls at him, gently, enough for him to be aware, but slowly settling him into the between space where your inhibitions feel a bit blurred. Lifting a hand, he places it on Derek's arm, shifts himself a bit closer and mumbles into the pillow he grabbed. "We're gonna figure this out. Don't worry."  
  
"I always worry." Derek says, quietly, his own hand moving to cover Stiles'.  
  
His eyes slip closed, the pillowcase feels soft beneath his cheek as he rubs his face against it. "Yeah, but that's why you have me."  
  
The last thing Stiles feels are fingers gently touching the side of his jaw, and he wants to open his eyes, he wants to look Derek in the eyes and fully listen and feel the vulnerability of the moment, this side Derek keeps locked under chains and manacles. But he's asleep within seconds, a warm feeling settling into his chest.

 

Stiles remembers that summer fondly, very fondly. The time where Derek was more open, more receptive. Just, more. Not in any way that would be immediately recognizable. But, small things.  
  
The way Derek's personal bubble slowly started to spread out more, including but not limited to letting Stiles touch him. Not in _that_ way, get your mind out of the gutter. In casual ways, a hand on the shoulder, a pat to the back, a playful punch that lacked any sort of power. He even started to reciprocate.  
  
Nights where Stiles felt so tense he was ready to snap in two, because things felt so close, like if he just found the right thought everything would snap into place- Derek would rest a hand along the back of his neck, and Stiles could feel himself relax at the contact.  
  
Derek would even playfully hit back, a much more rare occasion than anything else, and with even less power than Stiles, but it was still something, something that made Stiles grin.  
  
In the middle of one of Stiles' very animated explanations, Derek grabbed at one of his hands, which had been flailing dangerously close to Derek's face, and he held his wrist for a moment, eyebrow arching, before practically tossing it back at Stiles with a small smile playing at the edges of his mouth.

That summer was like a bubble, just the four of them playing at nancy drew, but with more at stake than an old missing clock.  
  
It felt safe, in the most selfish of ways, where weeks bled into a routine that was comforting and known. Peter made quips that bordered on manic, Isaac was coming out of his shell more, and Derek was a constant, offering smiles and reassurances when needed. Making Stiles feel needed. Wanted.  
  
Then, Scott came back.  
  
That sentence wasn't supposed to mean the _end_ to anything, not to Stiles. It was meant to be the beginning, an excitement that bled into everything he did because, it's Scott. How can he not be excited for Scott.  
  
Sure, he's hesitant to tell Scott about the Alpha Pack, about Erica and Boyd. Sure, Derek warns him to keep it quiet until they have more concrete evidence, not wanting to worry Scott just yet.  
  
But, it wasn't the way Scott found out, it wasn't his anger mingled with hurt at being kept in the dark.  
  
The greying clouds seeping to his comfortable bubble of a summer was because of the way Derek retreated into himself the moment Scott was back in the picture. The way Stiles could physically see Derek closing himself off and taking a step back.  
  
It hurt, in a way. Sharing glances and throwing smiles his way only to be thrust so far back in their friendship that he finds himself wondering for a bit if those three months ever actually happened.

But then, they find out more information, then he's standing in Derek's loft with blueprints spread in front of him and Derek at his side, and it feels _real_ . Like nothing's changed.  
  
Derek asks a question and he answers out of habit, but it was directed at Scott. It takes Stiles a second to tamp down the flare of disappointment. He can’t be disappointed, not here, not now. Then, he's making Derek prove himself, prove he can punch through a solid wall with only inches of room to spare, because he wants Derek’s attention back, in that selfish way that makes him remember the quiet days of summer.  
  
The answering punch hurts like a motherfucker, but he catches Derek trying to hide a smile as Stiles reels around from the pain, and he feels like it was worth it. Like maybe the grey clouds will break and things can slot back to how they were. That things can feel whole again.  
  
Then, Erica is found dead. Boyd is practically rabid, and so is a sister Derek thought was gone.  
  
The bubble bursts. It doesn't stop bursting. Everything happens, one thing after another. The bodies pile up, matching the guilt on Derek's shoulders.  
  
Stiles changes too, he experiences things that make him long for that summer when he could think clearly, when the only thing that plagued him at night was the run of the mill insomnia.

 

Stiles finds himself sitting at a bus stop, staring at his phone, at the contact he still has saved. It might not even work. The number might have changed. Everything between them toes the line of _changed_. He taps at it anyways.  
  
The call goes to voicemail, and all he says is; "It's me, call me when you get the chance. It's important." He hopes he sounded calmer than he feels. Then, he sends off a few texts, along the same vein, to the same contact.  
  
>get back to me whn you can  
>im srs it's important  
>kinda super really important  
>i wouldn't be spamming you if i didn't mean it  
>i just wanna make sure you're not dead ok  
>and knowing you thats an actual possibility so really  
>please  
  
Stiles checks his phone no less than twenty times by the time he reaches the small apartment he managed to rent, and he's thinking about sending another set of texts as he kicks his shoes into a corner. Maybe another voicemail.  
  
As he's scrolling down to Scott's contact, a notification slips onto the screen.  
  
**_Young Wolf Money [full moon emoji]_** ** _  
_**_< <are you ok?_  
_ <<You can't spam me and then not answer back. _  
  
The sense of relief practically threatens to drown him as he rubs at his eyes and chokes out a laugh.  
  
>how's it feel to worry?  
>ok but Serious Stiles time  
>derek you will not believe this

 

Stiles sort of ends up harboring Derek as a fugitive- it's complicated alright. But, it’s a thing that’s happening as they both try to figure out what the actual hell is going on with the FBI.

Derek suggests calling Scott, with a tightness to his voice that reminds Stiles that things are still tense between them. Sometimes he forgets that Derek’s relationship with almost everybody can be described as _tense_. Unless it’s Stiles himself, then apparently their relationship is- well Stiles can’t actually describe it. All he knows is that it includes Derek sitting on his couch from the local thrift store, wearing a wonder woman tshirt (it was only $3 and sure, it was a bit large for Stiles, but goddamn did he want it), and glowering at Stiles’ laptop.

“Nah, he doesn’t need to know.” He says, throws out casually as he walks into his bedroom, pulling back the covers and getting ready to crawl in.

“No?”

Stiles leans forward just enough to see Derek in the other room, only a few feet away because of small apartment dimensions, to see the way Derek twists himself around on the couch, eyebrows gearing up to do the macarena. He can’t help but smile. “You have me, remember?”

It’s quiet as Stiles goes back to getting ready for bed, and when he’s finally under his covers, a thought occurs to him. Is it the best idea? Maybe not. Is he tired? Yes. Does he hate the idea of Derek either staying up all night or sleeping on his very shitty couch? Yes.

Derek tries to refuse, as Stiles tugs him towards the bed, and Stiles knows that Derek’s holding back if he’s letting himself be _pulled_ anywhere, but it doesn’t matter because no one can ever say Stiles Stilinski isn’t stubborn. There’s only one bed and, “I don’t care that you've slept in worse places, if anything that's just sad. We're all adults here- don't scoff, I _am_. Just, shut the hell up, and get in.”

A pillow is shoved at Derek the minute he relents and gingerly lays on top of the blankets, as Stiles climbs over him and burrows deep in his bed, getting comfortable. He's expecting Derek to be frozen and awkward, but after Stiles tugs as the blankets and makes Derek actually get under them, he seems to relax, to melt into the mattress.

Stiles thinks this would be the type of moment to wax lyrical about, the moment where poetry is written about the exact shade of Derek’s eyes and the way his face softens. But, Stiles for once doesn’t think, he just reaches out. He can't help himself really, or maybe he could but he doesn't want to. He's skipping his fingertips along the scruff of Derek's jaw, trying not to hold his breath even as he feels Derek rumble low in his chest, hand reaching up to curl around Stiles'.

"We have each other." Derek says, his hand still in Stiles, so Stiles lets it slip down until their hands are resting under the hollow of Derek's collarbones.

“That’s really cheesy, dude.”

“ _Stiles_.”

“It’s super true though, but it’s the truest cheese.”

He falls asleep smiling, with Derek's heart thudding a steady beat, pounding it's way up through his bones towards his own heart. It's all very poetic, Stiles thinks, right before he closes his eyes.

If you ask Stiles, nothing really has an end. There’s always something happening after, a constant string of things that never really stop.

Tomorrow, they’ll wake up, they’ll have breakfast, they might talk about this thing between them or maybe they won’t and they’ll act like it’s completely normal because it _is_ , and they’ll continue the trend of solving mysteries with terribly high stakes that started forever ago during the summer. Stiles will make himself a new bubble, where he can be selfish and enjoy quiet moments with Derek, because they’re both so far away from Beacon Hills, and maybe for once they can have something nice.


End file.
